


Litost

by signifying_nothing



Series: Words of Devotion [4]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Blood, Full Feelings Nasty, Gen, Knives, Violence, a for angst, b for broken, broken relationship, c for crying, discussion of tragedy, lots of pain in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: It hasn't hurt this badly in years.In years and years and years, Jaehwan has not felt this agony and he is too soft against it now.
Series: Words of Devotion [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790611
Comments: 36
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Litost  
> Czech  
> “Litost is a state of torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.” The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, Milan Kundera.
> 
> the rest of the series is required reading if you want to know what the heckity heck is happening here!  
> (and to think, you all wanted to know what happened between jaehwan and hongbin. be careful what you wish for...)

It hasn't hurt this badly in years.

In years and years and years, Jaehwan has not felt this agony and he is too soft against it now. Hongbin's words cut and rend and ruin, they claw from his throat even when Hongbin tries to choke them back and Jaehwan can't remember how he used to deal with it, if he'd ever had to deal with it or if he'd simply witnessed it from a safe distance. Gongchan was always the one to bring Hongbin down. Gongchan taught Hongbin how to be, peacefully. How to control himself, and his curse.

Jaehwan had never thought to ask how Gongchan did it. He'd just assumed that Gongchan would always be there to do it.

Then Gongchan had been murdered and Jaehwan, frightened as he'd always been against the storm-crossed power of Hongbin's rage and pain, had fled to safer places and left Hongbin behind. This is happening because he left Hongbin behind, because he'd been _weak,_ because he'd refused to shoulder the responsibility he'd always left Gongchan to handle and now he's dealing with the consequences of that choice. This is his fault. All of this is his fault.

Jaehwan has done many stupid things in his life, played many stupid games, taken many stupid risks, but leaving Hongbin behind has been the most idiotic, selfish, unforgivable thing he has ever done. And while the physical wounds and emotional ones had hurt so badly before, they are killing Jaehwan, now that he knows that if he'd stayed...

_I would have. With time._

Jaehwan slides down the door to the room Hongbin is staying in. Jaehwan presses his hands to his eyes and ignores the blood streaming down over them. He ignores the blood seeping into his shirt and jeans, too. He struggles not to cry. He bares his teeth, breathes blood in through them onto his tongue. What right does he have to cry? Hongbin's words hurt but Hongbin isn't in control of himself right now. Hongbin can't be held responsible for anything he says when his mind has been so damaged. Jaehwan needs to get over himself, he needs to take care of Hongbin the way he should have been taking care of him all this time. He needs to be better, he needs to be stronger, he needs to carry Hongbin because Hongbin can't support himself and Jaehwan can't leave him behind again. It might kill him this time. It nearly killed him the first time.

Jaehwan wishes apologies meant anything to the person behind the door at his back. He wishes Hongbin would stop asking him where Gongchan is. He wishes Hongbin was always conscious enough of himself to remember that Gongchan is _dead,_ that it's just the two of them now, instead of only sometimes conscious enough to remember. Those are the times that hurt the most. More than Hongbin's cruel words, more than his hysterical laughter, more than his tears—when Hongbin looks at him through his soft, dark hair with his golden yellow eyes and holds on to Jaehwan's waist and cries because he knows, he knows Gongchan is gone... Those moments are what spears Jaehwan's heart and leaves it bleeding on the floor. Moments like those just a few minutes before... They are brutal and few. But they are _brutal._

Downstairs, when Hongbin had told Byeongkwan that his... Well, Jaehwan can only assume Hongbin meant Byeongkwan's lover—was about to die, Jaehwan had been unable to tolerate the cruelty. He'd thrown a charm that called to him at Hongjoong and then forcibly pulled Hongbin upstairs. Hongbin giggled and squirmed and gasped for air and as Jaehwan dragged Hongbin into the room, Hongbin had moved—fast, so fast—and pinned Jaehwan against the wall. He'd stared at Jaehwan, and Jaehwan's breath fled. For a moment his heart stopped beating.

“When I met you,” Hongbin had said, his voice low and warm. “When I met you, Jaehwan, I thought you were the sun. So bright, shining, warm, so warm. You drew yourself to us.”

“Hongbin—”

“Then I Saw that you would leave us.”

Jaehwan's entire body trembled. A part of Hongbin's curse is that he can't See the fates of those closest to him. So perhaps Hongbin had never truly been close to Jaehwan at all. 

“I knew that you would walk away from us, Jaehwan. Because you are a coward, because you are _afraid._ ” Hongbin had pressed closer, spoken softly, so sweetly, into Jaehwan's ear. “You've always been afraid, Jaehwan. Even when we are this close, even when you shiver at my touch like you did when we were new,” Hongbin's hands had been sliding up Jaehwan's shirt. His lips had moved over Jaehwan's neck and Jaehwan, who had always been weak against this, too, had arched his back forward and tilted his head back, even as his hands on Hongbin's shoulders pretended to make the motion of pushing him away. Jaehwan didn't want to push him away. Hongbin knew it. Hongbin had always known. Hongbin Saw, because he wasn't close enough to Jaehwan to be blind.

“You're pathetic,” Hongbin had said, holding Jaehwan's waist too tightly, pushing him hard against the wall and lifting his thigh up between Jaehwan's legs. “So fucking pathetic, Jaehwan. You'd let me fuck you even now if you thought it would make me happy. If you thought it would help me at all. That's the worst part, isn't it?”

Hongbin sucked tenderly at Jaehwan's neck, slid his hands down Jaehwan's back and to his hips. He'd yanked Jaehwan up his thigh to the sound of Jaehwan scrabbling for support, up on his toes with his shoulders pressed to the wall.

“You would have done anything to help me then. Anything but stay.”

“Hongbin—”

“Fucking you unconscious right now would make me very happy, Jaehwan.” Hongbin's voice was so very warm. Jaehwan stared up at the ceiling and hated himself, hated what he'd done, hated why he'd done it. He hated that it felt good for Hongbin to touch him again, he hated that he'd missed it so, so badly. Hated that Hongbin was being so cruel.

“Do you love me, Jaehwan?” Hongbin had asked.

“Of course I do,” Jaehwan had said, because that at the very least was true, no matter how much Jaehwan fervently wished it wasn't. Jaehwan loved Hongbin. Jaehwan had always loved Hongbin, Jaehwan will always love Hongbin. Not because of their connection as a coven, but because Jaehwan simply _loved_ him. Even when it hurt, even at that moment when his madness was making so, so unkind, Jaehwan loved him.

“You know I do,” his voice had been weak, but sincere. His fingertips moved from Hongbin's chest to his neck to hold his jaw. “Hongbin. I love you so much, you know I always _have_. So much it hurts.”

“I love you too,” Hongbin had whispered, lied, into the kiss that connected them. They came together like they'd never been apart, like Jaehwan had never run from him, like Gongchan was still alive and simply waiting in another room. They used to kiss like this. Even if Hongbin's heart had not been entrusted to him, and even if Jaehwan had been anxious, their bodies did not share those same reservations. “So much it makes me want to cripple you, just to make sure you can't leave me again.”

Jaehwan should have seen it coming. The stormswirl of movement, the force with which he was flung from the wall, the incredible physical and magical strength that allowed Hongbin to pin him to the floor, arms over his head, wrists held tight by force. So tight it hurt.

“I _should_ cripple you,” Hongbin said, almost conversationally, as a knife seemed to materialize in his hand. “I should kill you in a thousand different ways. Do you even remember what he looked like, Jaehwan? Do you remember the sound of his voice, do you remember his color?”

“Sunset,” Jaehwan choked out, as Hongbin cut every button on his shirt off, one at a time. “He—he used to say we were the color of a sunset—”

“That's right,” Hongbin had nodded, smiling down at Jaehwan while tipping his head up with the flat of the knife. If this was how he was going to die, that was fine, Jaehwan thought. Hongbin had more than earned the right to kill him.

“But he's not here anymore is he Jaehwan, no. No no, Gongchan is gone because we weren't _paying attention._ ” Hongbin dug the knife into Jaehwan's skin. The magic of it made the wound deep and wide. Jaehwan screamed, but the room was magically sound-proofed. No one was going to hear him. No one was going to know anything was happening unless they came upstairs and opened the door and none of those downstairs would dare.

“They were after _me,_ Jaehwan!” The knife kept digging in. Jaehwan bled. Words, he thought dizzily, Hongbin was carving words.

“They were after me, not him. Not him, he was _collateral damage._ But not you. No, you were much worse, weren't you. You left because you were _afraid._ ” Hongbin kept carving. Held in place by Hongbin'g sheer force of will, Jaehwan couldn't stop him from opening his jeans and yanking them down just far enough to show his shorthairs. He carved there, too.

Jaehwan wanted to sob, but didn't. What right did he have to cry, to miss Gongchan, because he'd always been closer to Hongbin, because the two of them had always been the closest out of the three of them, because Jaehwan never could have hoped to come close to what the two of them had—

_You will regret this._

_I already do._

—because Jaehwan wasn't needed, he wasn't needed, they didn't need him, they were a trifecta all on their own, for all the power they had. Jaehwan was a poor fit, despite how desperately he loved them. It had never mattered. He'd stayed with them anyway, even if it hurt sometimes, because sometimes it didn't. Sometimes it felt like the Goddess really _had_ led them to one another, that they were meant to be together, that they—the color of a sunset in summer—were meant to be together.

Jaehwan screamed when Hongbin turned him over. His hands were still pinned over his head, and Hongbin pushed the back of his shirt up. He was humming to himself as he carved there, too. The tune made Jaehwan weep like a child.

“Aw,” Hongbin soothed, pulling Jaehwan's shirt back into place. It was immediately soaked with his own blood, sticky and cooling quickly. “Don't cry, baby, don't cry. It's okay, you're okay. I'm here. I'm here, baby.” Hongbin fisted a hand in Jaehwan's hair and yanked his head back, hard. The knife traced against his neck. It felt more like a warm fingertip. Maybe it was. Jaehwan couldn't tell; he was dizzy with pain, with bloodloss, with emotional agony.

“You don't _get_ to cry,” Hongbin snarled, slamming Jaehwan's forehead into the hardwood. Jaehwan managed to turn just enough to avoid breaking his nose but instead it was his temple and hairline that his the floor and left him nauseous with pain.

“You don't get to cry, Jaehwan,” Slam. “You were the one who left _us._ ” Slam. “You left us, you _left._ You fucking _coward,_ you _abandoned us._ ” Slam. Slam. Slam.

Jaehwan could barely feel... Anything, as he was turned over. As Hongbin smoothed his face and hair, smearing blood all over him as he closed his shirt and kissed his head and his cheek and his lips.

“You never even went to his grave with me,” Hongbin whispered, weeping, pulling Jaehwan up into a sitting position, staying in his lap. Moments like those were the most painful. Hongbin never would have touched him like that in the House in New York. “You never even came to his _grave,_ Jaehwan, did we mean so little to you? Did I?”

“No,” Jaehwan managed to get out, because they mattered so much. They were everything to him, even if he hadn't meant the same to them. Would Hongbin have wanted his comfort then? Or would Jaehwan just been a piss poor substitute for the love he'd lost? Jaehwan was always second-best to Gongchan in Hongbin's eyes, always. He was second-best to Hongbin, though Gongchan had been gentler, more giving with his affections, but never his love. There was a part of Jaehwan, buried deep in his soul, that hated them for that. That he was never enough for either of them, that he'd always been second, that if either of them had to choose one of them to die, they would have chosen him and saved each other. Jaehwan couldn't even blame them. Anyone who looked at them could see that they were something special, something beyond fate or destiny.

In the face of that, Jaehwan was a petty, childish coward. His envy had been as green as the plants he took care of in Hongbin's House in New York, the only personal touch he had there. His room had been empty, save for the dresser, the bed, and the plants. Neither of them ever visited him there. He always went to them. He'd been so envious. When would either of them love him like that? Would they ever love him the way they loved one another, even a _fraction_ of the way they'd loved one another? It would have been enough. Anything would have been enough.

“Bean,” Jaehwan whispered, the nickname something he'd gently teased Hongbin with after introducing him to his string-bean plant, which had been enamored with him from day one. It was one of the very few plants that existed out in a public space instead of the well-lit jungle of Jaehwan's bedroom, and it seemed to produce new vegetables every time Hongbin walked by, even if Hongbin hadn't paid it any mind. Much like Jaehwan himself, it had begun to wilt in the face of Hongbin's apathy.

“Bean. Y... You mean the world to me.” Jaehwan could feel that he was bleeding all over, physically, and on the inside, too. It felt like all of his old wounds were being torn open, their infections old and stinking. “Y... You're everything.”

“But I'm not, am I,” Hongbin whispered, lucid in this moment, his voice so very, very sad. “I wasn't important enough for you to take with you when you left. You left me in New York and you never looked back.”

“Would you have come with me? If I asked you to go?”

Hongbin had looked down at Jaehwan. Jaehwan looked up at him, and Hongbin's face turned to ice. He dropped Jaehwan to the floor. It hurt so badly. Not as much as his heart hurt.

“Would you have stayed?” Hongbin asked, bitter. “If I'd begged you on my knees would you have stayed with me in the place where he died? Did you even care that he died? Or was it just a relief to you, that he wasn't there anymore. That you didn't have to stand in his shadow like the _pathetic_ waste you have _always_ been, Lee Jaehwan, with your plants and your books and your charms like magicians tricks? Were you _happy_ they killed him? Were you _glad_ when you saw his ruined body on the front step of my House—?”

Jaehwan found the strength to rise. No, no how _dare_ Hongbin speak those words, how _dare_ he make those accusations, in a moment of insanity or not. It was not the insult to his capabilities that made Jaehwan angry. He'd been hearing that since he really started to grow into his magic and discovered that was there his talents lay. No. No, it was not that. 

Jaehwan found the strength to rise and grabbed Hongbin by the shirt much as Hongbin had done to him and slammed him so hard against the wall a photo fell. The glass shattered somewhere to Jaehwan's left.

“You speak like you _ever_ cared about how I felt Lee Hongbin, how _dare you._ ” Jaehwan, bleeding, shoved Hongbin harder against the wall, and ignored the knife that started to dig into the back of his right shoulder, Hongbin's defense of himself. “How _dare_ you speak as though you ever found me to be anything more than a blight on your House, you _know_ I loved you, you _know_ I loved him! More than _anything_ I loved you, did I not give and give and give of myself, of everything I had, everything I was, everything I could give you and _more_ —”

Jaehwan staggered back. Hongbin's knife was buried parallel to his shoulder blade. He could only barely feel it. There was so much blood. Orange and glistening, shimmering, mocking him as it stained the front of Hongbin's shirt like Hongbin would have ever held him there to comfort him, to kiss him, to care for him at all.

“Was _I_ ever enough for _you_?” Jaehwan swallowed his fear, and asked what he wanted to ask all those years ago when he'd wanted Hongbin to come with him and had known in his soul that even if he begged, Hongbin would not leave New York, would not leave the House he'd shared with Gongchan, would not leave his dead lover's ghost.

“Was there ever a _moment_ after Chansik's death when you did not wish it was _me_ you found on the doorstep? Broken and bleeding and ruined and _dead,_ did you not cry out that you wished it was _anyone_ else and we both knew the only other person it could have been was me?”

Hongbin stared at him, and Jaehwan knew the answer. He'd known it all this time and had not wanted to confirm the truth of it. It hurt so much. More than where he was bleeding, more than past wounds, more than anything, the agony that ripped through him felt like Hongbin had his heart in his icy fist and was squeezing it dry.

“Did you ever want me at all, Bean? For all that you're saying right now, for all that you are mad, for all that you are _lying_ to me, did.” Jaehwan didn't want to know. He didn't want to know but—

“Hongbin, did you ever love me at all?”

“No,” Hongbin breathed out, and Jaehwan's soul shattered. It hurt so much more than anything else Hongbin had said in his moments of madness or his moments of sanity over the last few days. Jaehwan had known, in his heart of hearts, even though he'd wanted to badly to believe otherwise. Hongbin had come here as a last resort, because he'd known that Jaehwan would take him in and keep him safe. He'd come here because he knew he had a safe haven in Jaehwan's Home, even though he'd never granted Jaehwan that same privilege.

“No. I did not love you. I could have. I would have. In time.”

“I wish you'd loved me when it still mattered.”

Jaehwan backed away from Hongbin, slowly, like one backed away from a dangerous animal.

The facts were this: Gongchan was still dead. Hongbin was still alive. Jaehwan's body, while still moving, had been an animated corpse since 1985 when he first met the two of them, bright and shining and so, so beautiful.

 _I'm Lee Jaehwan,_ he'd said then, Goddess, so bright and full of hope and happiness and light.

 _I thought you were the sun,_ Hongbin had said just now. Had lied, had lied, had lied.

 _I've been looking everywhere for you!_ Jaehwan's heart had burst with happiness.

 _Oh,_ Hongbin had said, smiling his beautiful smile. _It's a pleasure_. Even then. Even then, he'd been lying. Had Hongbin ever told him the truth? About anything?

“Jaehwan—”

No matter how much Hongbin had hurt—no matter how much it hurt him to watch Yeosang building his family, no matter how much it hurt that his House in New York and all that was left in it are gone, no matter how much pain Hongbin felt here in Jaehwan's House—it was still a warm and comforting place, because Jaehwan wanted it to be. He wanted Hongbin to feel wanted and loved if only because he'd never felt those things when he lived in New York, not for the eleven years he'd been there, trapped in the shadow of two great witches who did not need the pitiful child straggling along behind them no matter how they pitied and appeased him, made the motions of love with none of the feeling. He hoped Hongbin could feel in the very walls of this House how much Jaehwan had loved him, how _desperately_ Jaehwan had wanted his love to be returned, what he would have given to have that. He hoped that, in the walls of this House, Hongbin felt how much Jaehwan still loved him, even though he hated it. He _hated it._

“I always wanted to go home, Hongbin,” Jaehwan said, smiling though his tears.

“But I never had a home with you. You didn't want me then, and you certainly don't want me now. So. So stay. Let the House heal your wounds and tend to you, let...” he laughed, hiccuping.

“Let me show you, just once, the love I would have shown you then, if you would have let me.”

Jaehwan felt for the doorknob, and pulled the door open. He moved back into the hallway as Hongbin looked around the room like he was seeing it for the first time, and as the door closed Jaehwan could see that Hongbin was running for the door—

But it had already clicked shut.

Now, exhausted, Jaehwan slides down the door and bleeds. He wishes he _was_ the dead one. If he'd been the one to die, at least Hongbin and Gongchan still would have had one another. Jaehwan would have faded from their minds, eventually. But Gongchan's death is still as fresh in Jaehwan's mind as it is in Hongbin's. No matter how much Jaehwan wishes their places could be exchanged, there are some things that will simply never be.

So there is only this: Hongbin on one side of the door. Hating, mourning, angry, helpless. Jaehwan on the other: hating, mourning, angry, helpless. The two of them can't support one another, because they never had the means to do so in the first place. Gongchan had been the only thing tying them together, and now they're too far apart. They will never reach each other, and not only because Hongbin does not want to reach. They will never have what Jaehwan wants so fervently. They will never have easy laughter, affectionate teasing, and words of devotion. After everything they would have been only lip service anyway. They will never reach each other because without Gongchan, Hongbin and Jaehwan are a negative and a positive who, in the end, add up to nothing.

~

_Was there ever a moment after Chansik's death when you did not wish it was me you found on the doorstep? Broken and bleeding and ruined and dead, did you not cry out that you wished it was anyone else and the only other person it could have been, was me?_

_Did you ever want me at all, Bean? For all that you're saying right now, for all that you are mad, for all that you are lying to me, did. Hongbin, did you ever love me at all?_

_No. No. I did not love you. I could have. I would have. In time._

_I wish you'd loved me when it still mattered._

Something inside Hongbin cracks.

The look on Jaehwan's face—the agony, oh sweet Goddess, his _pain—_

He hadn't been able to see it then. Back in New York, in the House he shared with Gongchan. The House where Jaehwan had lived, for a while. He had been so bright, like the sun. Warm, beaming, blessing everything he touched with light and love. He had been everything Hongbin was not, has never been, will never be, and Hongbin has—has _tainted_ that. That sunlight is faded now, if it's even still there at all. That ruin, that cruelty, had happened in Hongbin's House. The House he had shared with Gongchan. The House where Jaehwan had lived. But he'd never truly been a part of it. Hongbin had never shown him the secret way up to the attic, or the way the sun came in through the glass roof so Jaehwan could grow plants or make charms there. Hongbin had never shown Jaehwan the way the door to the basement could open to almost anywhere, as long as he knew where he wanted to go. He had shared an easy affection with Jaehwan, but he was just... He was just someone to pass the time with. Someone who kept him company while Gongchan was gone.

Hongbin had not loved Jaehwan. He was not lying when he said he would have, in time. In time he would have found the way Jaehwan sparkled and twinkled something to be adored instead of something to be exhausted by. In time he would have found Jaehwan's laughter to be more like bells ringing than rocks tumbling. In time he would have found Jaehwan's gentle embrace to be something he wanted to stay in, his forehead someplace he wished to drop kisses, his hands wonderful to hold. In time, Hongbin would have loved Jaehwan if they'd had a little more time, and a little less fear.

But love is merciless, and beautiful, and cruel.

Was it just that he and Gongchan were too wrapped up in one another to notice? Or had they simply not cared that as time passed, Jaehwan laughed less and less? That Jaehwan's embraces were short and loose, as though he wanted to get away from them as soon as possible? How Jaehwan shied away from kisses, or their hands reaching for his? Had Gongchan not _told_ Hongbin, not a week before his death,

_Hongbin, we really need to talk to Jaehwan. He's not well._

_He seems well enough to me._

_Does he? Really?_

Hongbin had just not wanted to see it. He hadn't wanted to see the way eleven years had ground down what had once been beautiful summer sunshine into a miserable moonless night. He just hadn't wanted to see the way the stupid, wonderful vegetable plant on the end table started to wilt when he walked by, instead of perking up. He hadn't wanted to hear the way Jaehwan never sang anymore, how he never called out _Bean! Bean look at this, look, look!_

_Did you ever love me at all?_

_No._

Hongbin falls to his knees in the House Jaehwan built—had built alone, had built on his own—because Hongbin wouldn't have come with him, even if he'd begged. Jaehwan could have begged on his knees and Hongbin still would have stayed in New York with his lover's ghost.

But the House Jaehwan has built is so beautiful, and it's so warm. It _feels_ like Jaehwan used to, all the way back in 1985 when they first met—when that beautiful, silly boy had all but bounced up to Hongbin and Gongchan walking in a park, and absolutely blinded Hongbin. In time, that blinding light might have blown away all the darkness Hongbin contained.

_I'm Lee Jaehwan! I've been looking everywhere for you!_

How beautiful he'd been then. How soft and sweet and yielding, never complaining when Hongbin and Gongchan couldn't make time for him, or didn't have time to look at his projects, or forgot to invite him out with them.

_Well, I mean, all those couples packages are for two, right? It's not a big deal! Have a good time! I'll watch the House while you're out!_

It had been. It _had_ been a big deal and Hongbin and known it and he'd ignored it and pretended it wasn't happening because the happiness of that beautiful, silly boy was not his responsibility—

It should have been. Hongbin should have listened more carefully when Wonsik read his cards. He should have paid more attention to what Wonsik had pulled, what Wonsik had been so worried about. Even now, he can barely recall anything but the way Wonsik's face had looked when he turned the last cards—the ones that gave a glimpse into a possible future. He'd looked so worried, so afraid. Hongbin had laughed off his concerns then, because it was only a _possible_ future, after all, so he didn't have that much to worry about, so long as he and Gongchan kept things under control.

 _And Jaehwan,_ Wonsik had said. _Jaehwan, too._

_Yes, yes. Jaehwan too._

He thinks it now and finds it easy to remember what the cards had been, as though the Goddess herself is giving him the knowledge to mock him for not listening back then. Wonsik had pulled the Inverted Ten of Cups. Shattered dreams, domestic disharmony... Broken family. Wonsik had pulled the Inverted Death. Holding on, stagnation, decay. It had been there right in front of him. Hongbin had not been able to See what would happen to Gongchan, because he was too close to Gongchan.

But he'd been able to See that Jaehwan would leave. He'd been able to See that as clear as the moon on a cloudless night. He had Seen it, had felt it in his bones. Maybe that was part of why Hongbin never got close to him. Because he'd known Jaehwan would leave.

He just hadn't known he'd be the reason Jaehwan left.

_Did you ever love me at all?_

_No_.

No, he hadn't dared. But he could have. If he hadn't been so fucking afraid of Jaehwan leaving, if he hadn't ever Seen that Jaehwan would leave, not more than two weeks after Jaehwan had come. He remembers waking up in the middle of the night gasping for air, running up the stairs to the bedroom that the House had made for Jaehwan—he never closed the door, always left it open a crack, and through that crack Hongbin could see that Jaehwan was asleep at his desk, head on his arms, breathing peacefully. He'd been so beautiful, but he was going to _leave._ Perhaps it had been then that he'd decided he wouldn't love Jaehwan. Because he knew that at some point he would come running up these stairs, and that beautiful, silly boy would be gone and it frightened him so much he'd made the decision not to love Jaehwan at all.

It hurt. But not as much as it hurt Jaehwan. Hongbin knows now. How unwanted and ugly and useless Jaehwan felt. How small and stupid and unneeded. How it was _Hongbin_ who made him feel that way.

 _He hates me,_ he'd heard Jaehwan whisper one night, to one of his stupid, beautiful plants. _He hates me. I don't know what I did wrong. Bean hates me._

 _No,_ Hongbin had wanted to say then, wanted to step out of the hallway and into the living room where Jaehwan was curled around some large dish holding a thatch of herbs, _No, that's not true._ But he hadn't. Nor had he any of the other times it looked like Jaehwan was going to ask him a question, and then didn't. He hadn't any time Gongchan had talked to him, either.

_I talked to Jaehwan today, he was really down, Hongbin._

_Oh?_

_You really need to talk to him._

_Why, aren't you a good enough listener?_

_Hongbin it's not funny. It's not funny, he's in pain._

_I'll talk to him._

But had he ever? Had he ever really attempted to talk to Jaehwan aside from what was absolutely necessary to maintain the image of affection? He'd never allowed Jaehwan to get close because he hadn't wanted to hurt when he lost him and now he's lost him anyway and the agony is tearing Hongbin to pieces in this moment of terrible sanity between his stretches of madness when his curse makes him say vile, unkind things. This is his fault. He has no one to blame but himself. Gongchan tried to warn him. The Sight had tried to warn him. Wonsik and his cards had tried to warn him, but... Too little, too late. It is all too little, far too late.

On his knees in the House that Jaehwan built—a House made of love, and beauty, and sunlight, it is Hongbin who feels small, and unwanted, and ugly. The difference between Jaehwan and Hongbin is that Hongbin deserves to feel these miserable things. He's made his bed. But Jaehwan hadn't deserved it then, and he doesn't deserve it now. Jaehwan shouldn't have opened his doors, shouldn't have called Hongbin _lover._ Jaehwan should not have screamed to bring Hongbin back to the world at the cost of something of his own—something Hongbin hadn't been brave enough to ask about. But it was too much. Whatever the cost, it had been too much. Jaehwan should have let him die there, on his doorstep. Jaehwan is too good for this miserable world, he is too good for Hongbin's pervasive darkness. Jaehwan is too soft and too sweet, too beautiful and overflowing with love to be saddled with the insanity and ugliness that has always been a part of Hongbin, even when Gongchan had helped him keep it under control as best he could. All that work has been undone, Hongbin knows. All of Gongchan's efforts that kept Hongbin stable in the House they had shared in New York, have been ripped to shreds by whatever terrible thing had chased him here. Whatever terrible thing he'd led right to Jaehwan's doorstep.

On his knees in the House that Jaehwan built, Hongbin covers his face with his hands and weeps, loud and painful. Hongbin lets himself be lifted by the blankets up into the bed. He allows himself to be stripped of his bloody clothes and tucked down into a warm comforter and soft sheets with all the care Jaehwan had once wanted to give him. He hugs the pillow, it's just like the one he'd had in his bed in New York, and cries until he can't breathe, trapped between missing Gongchan and missing Jaehwan, trapped between the curse and his heart, hating that the curse had shown him because if he'd never Seen, this wouldn't have happened. If Hongbin hadn't been able to See, he would have been able to love Jaehwan as much as he wanted to, without reservation or fear or need to keep Jaehwan at arms length, lest he get so close that the light of Jaehwan's entire being blinded Hongbin to what he'd Seen. As he lays there sobbing, the House that Jaehwan built sings so sweetly, just like Jaehwan used to sing in the back hallway where the sun came in while he tended to his little potted flowers. It flows into Hongbin's ears and into his very soul, where he should have allowed Jaehwan to plant a garden of his love, and sit back to feel it bloom.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away._

~

He wakes up in the motel room with a childhood song on his lips. He hums it to himself as he pulls on fresh clothes and his road leathers. He hums it as he checks out of the hotel, he hums it as he pushes his helmet on. He sings it for the rest of the day, as he heads further east and south, east and south, until it becomes just south, and when he pulls into another hotel to stop for the night, he's still singing it. He'd forgotten that there was a second verse. It makes his heart ache, and he rubs a gloved hand over his chest, even as he sings it.

“The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms... When I awoke found I was mistaken, and I hung my head, and cried.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (you might regret it.)
> 
> as an aside you should all read the book of laughter and forgetting it is a Mindfuck


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there areeee i think 4? parts to this "section" ^^ it will be finished before i put up the next 'word' :>

Seonghwa climbs the stairs very quietly long after Hongbin and Jaehwan disappeared into the upper hallway. Seonghwa has been here before, of course. He and Yunho have known Jaehwan for a very long time, since he came to New Orleans in mid 1996. Long enough for Seonghwa to know that whatever is happening upstairs is not good—whatever the reason is that Jaehwan has not come back down, it's probably bad.

So. While everyone else is distracted by Byeongkwan and Sehyoon shakily telling them about what's going on out at the west coast, Seonghwa climbs the stairs. He holds on to the railing and it doesn't creak under his grip—the entire shop, Jaehwan's entire House, is muffled as to keep steps and voices very quiet. Jaehwan doesn't like shouting. Not in all the time Seonghwa has known him, has Jaehwan been able to tolerate raised voices, nor has he ever raised his voice.

It surprises him, and yet at the same time it does not, to find Jaehwan hugging himself, his back pressed against the door to the room Hongbin has been staying in. It doesn't surprise him that Jaehwan is crying into his arms. It doesn't even surprise him that Jaehwan is bleeding, bleeding all over, shimmering orange all over the floor, all over his face and hands and clothes.

“Come,” Seonghwa says, putting only a little compulsion in his voice. Jaehwan shouldn't be sitting out here, blood drying on and around him. He needs to be cleaned, he needs to be laid down. “Jaehwan. Come with me.”

Watching Jaehwan unfold is like watching a curl be pulled straight. As soon as the ability to be stretched disappears, it will snap back into its original shape, so it's important to hold it tightly. Seonghwa takes Jaehwan's hand and leads him to his bedroom, which has a large en suite bathroom. Seonghwa has stayed here before—when Yunho had to go somewhere and Seonghwa couldn't go with him, and it was too lonely at the house. Jaehwan is soft company, most of the time. Very gentle, very light. Always a little sad, somehow. Like his heart aches and he's trying to ignore it to the best of his abilities. Seonghwa has always suspected that Lee Hongbin is the source of Jaehwan's pain, if not the cause of it. Jaehwan's reactions to Hongbin's presence here, and to Hongbin's bouts of absolutely horrifying madness and violence, have proven Seonghwa's suspicions to be true.

Seonghwa helps Jaehwan stay upright. Helps him to peel off the shirt that is sticking to the edges of the ugly cuts, the centers of which are still bleeding, nevermind the ugly rip in his shoulder, where a knife has been driven in and yanked out again. He doesn't say anything, and Seonghwa _can't_ say anything—not when the words across Jaehwan's back are carved so very deeply, _YOU ARE OUR SUNSHINE, OUR ONLY SUNSHINE._ It's like looking at a mockery of a piece of classical art. Of course Seonghwa knows the tune—Yunho has sung it to him, as has Mingi. Jaehwan hums it sometimes. It's a sweet and beautiful song, but it always looks like it hurts him.

Worse is the lettering on his chest and belly with deep arrows, one pointing to where his heart is, the other facing down to his groin dug into the soft skin, its point carved right into his shorthairs. Between them both are the words, _PROPERTY OF GONG CHANSIK AND LEE HONGBIN._

How cruel, Seonghwa thinks, as Jaehwan touches the words with tender fingers. Seonghwa has turned to start the bath—because the cuts must be cleaned and covered, the wound on his shoulder mended—when Jaehwan lets out the softest, softest laugh.

“You're so lucky,” he whispers, pressing his hands to the wounds like he wants to hold them there forever. Like they bring him as much joy as pain. “Seonghwa. Seonghwa you're so lucky. He loves you so much. They love you so much. They love you and you...” Jaehwan smiles and it is so, so terrible. His shimmering orange tears mix with the blood dried on his face.

“You don't have to beg them. You don't... Have to plead with them, or... Or give so much that when you start over you... You have nothing.”

Seonghwa remembers that when Jaehwan first came to New Orleans he had nothing. A single suitcase, a few magical instruments, as much money as a person like him could be expected to have, which wasn't much. Still, he'd managed to find the shopfront, with its apartment upstairs. Jaehwan had managed to start over from wherever he'd come from and Seonghwa had never wanted to ask, because it just seemed to hurt him so badly.

“I loved them so much, Seonghwa. I... I loved them so much, I _love them_ so much but—but Chansik is—” More tears. More of that terrible, heartbroken smile. Seonghwa tries to remain calm and firm because Jaehwan clearly needs the presence of something, someone, _anyone,_ stable.

“Chansik is gone, Seonghwa. I couldn't find him, I tried, I _did._ I, I couldn't find him, he'd been gone for too long by the time—by the time they'd left his body—” Jaehwan stops smiling. His face twists into such agony that for a moment Seonghwa doesn't know what to do. He's always been able to help the others with their pain save Hongjoong. With Hongjoong, he must simply sit and wait for the moment to be over, so that is what he does now.

“I wanted to save him,” Jaehwan says, still touching the words on his chest, smoothing over the ragged edges like it feels good, instead of painful. “I wanted to save him so badly, I'd... I'd have given anything, everything, I _tried—_ but it wasn't enough, it was never enough, nothing I ever was or had or did was _enough._ He was dead and I would have traded my life for his, Seonghwa, I would have put myself in his place, it would have made Hongbin happy, it would have—”

Jaehwan claws his hands against his chest. He pulls at the wounds. It must hurt, but Seonghwa can't stop him and isn't sure he should.

“He never loved me,” Jaehwan whispers, staring out at nothing. “He never loved me. They never loved me, I... I was just some, some _child,_ I didn't... I had nothing to offer but myself and after _eleven years_ I still wasn't enough and Chansik died and Hongbin wishes it had been me and so do I if only because they would have been happy with each other even if I wasn't there—”

It is terrible to witness Jaehwan's tears as he smiles vaguely, as though reliving a memory he'd once found beautiful, but he is now seeing all the flaws in it. He realizes now that it has been ugly this entire time. Seonghwa does not know much about witches; he does not know about their culture, their way of thinking, their way of doing things. What he does know he has gleaned by watching Jaehwan, and by watching Jaehwan interact with other witches. He's always found it strange that they always come alone, never in groups, as he'd thought they would. Witches were groups, were they not? They were almost never alone. But only one witch at a time came in to Jaehwan's shop. The rest waited outside, or found somewhere else to go. Perhaps they could sense that the sight of them together would have hurt Jaehwan too much.

“I should have let him go,” Jaehwan whispers. “I should have let him go, I'm so selfish, I'm so _stupid._ He doesn't want to be here. He wants to be with Chansik, I should have let him go to Chansik, it would have been—but at least it wouldn't have been _this—_ ”

Seonghwa grabs at Jaehwan's wrists because he is raking his fingers over his chest now, tearing at the wounds, ripping them open further. He doesn't seem to care that he is bleeding. He doesn't seem to notice or care that there is anyone with him. Perhaps if Seonghwa had left him in the hallway Jaehwan would be whispering these things to his arms, instead of a person who is listening to him.

How long has Jaehwan been whispering out into the dark, waiting for a response and never receiving one? How long has it been since anyone has cared enough about Jaehwan to listen at all?

“He doesn't love me.” Jaehwan sobs out a laugh, his forehead against Seonghwa's chest from where he sits on the low counter. “He can't. Chansik still lives in his heart, so there is no room for me. No matter how, how small I try to be, how little of an—of an _inconvenience,_ I try so hard, Seonghwa I tried so hard. I just wanted them to love me. Just a little, just for a moment. It would have been enough. A single moment would have...” Jaehwan shakes his head. His voice is wretched and hollow.

“It doesn't matter now. Chansik is dead. Hongbin is dead without him, and he hates me for calling him back. I shouldn't have. I should have let go. But he was going to die, he... He was going to leave me, Seonghwa I love him so much, he doesn't know what I'd give—what I _gave—_ ”

“What did you give,” Seonghwa asks. His voice very gentle because he is frightened. He doesn't understand how the Voice works, but he knows that it has something to do with exchange. That Jaehwan can speak things into existence, at the cost of something else. Seonghwa can't imagine what the cost of a human life is. He's not sure he wants to know but he must. He _must_ know.

“Everything,” Jaehwan says, looking up at Seonghwa and his eyes are so beautiful, even for his messy tears. “Seonghwa. Seonghwa, I gave everything.”

“What does that mean, Jaehwan,” Seonghwa asks, his entire being shivering into ice despite how warm he's been with Yunho's blood since that morning. “What does 'everything' mean?”

Jaehwan laughs. It is wet and miserable and ugly. “I just. Don't have as much time as I used to.”

“As mu—Jaehwan—”

“It was worth it,” Jaehwan says. “It was... Even if it hurts, at least—at least he will be with me. At least I will be able to... To be with him for a little while longer, even if he does not care to be with me.”

Years. Jaehwan has given up years of his life for the madman in the bedroom down the hallway. Jaehwan had used his Voice and had exchanged his life for Hongbin's.

“How long do you have,” Seonghwa asks, taking Jaehwan's shoulders in his hands. “Jaehwan, how _long._ ”

“Long enough.” Jaehwan says, that sad little smile back on his face.

“In years, Jaehwan, tell me how many years.”

Jaehwan is a terrible liar. Well... He's a terrible liar with Seonghwa. He lies to everyone else fairly regularly and it doesn't seem to bother him.

“Nine months,” Jaehwan whispers. “It. It cost everything else. I'm not—I'm not worth as much as he is. I never have been. I sometimes think that's why I couldn't find Chansik. Not... Not because it had been too long, but because I could never be worth what he was worth. What am I but a child playing at adulthood, Seonghwa? He was more powerful than I will ever be, what use am I, I make charms and grow plants, I'm nothing compared to them—”

“No,” Seonghwa says, still holding Jaehwan's hands. “No, Jaehwan, that is not true. That will never be true.” Nine months, sweet mercy. Jaehwan has traded all but nine _months_ of his life—a life which should have lasted two hundred years or more—for that monster in the other room, for that cruel and ugly _beast_ who has made Jaehwan feel so small and so unwanted and so worthless, how _dare_ he? But Jaehwan gently pulls his hand away from Seonghwa. He touches the wounds on his belly, his chest and every place between.

“What I would have given to have these back then, Seonghwa,” he says, his voice wistful. “What I would have traded to have these when I was so desperate, when it still mattered so much that they loved me. What I would have given to feel for a moment that they wanted me. That I was more than a guest in their house, more than a plaything, more than... Than something to pass the time with.”

Jaehwan smiles and again it is terrible. It is heartbreaking, it is misery, it is love: merciless, beautiful, and cruel.

“I guess I'll... Just get to have it for the next nine months. That's better than never having it at all. He may hate me, but—” Jaehwan laughs around his bitten lip. “But at least he cares that I'm here to be hated.”

Jaehwan doesn't say anything else, after that. He lets Seonghwa wash him, even though he cries because the water hurts and the soap stings and the bandages pull. Jaehwan lets Seonghwa tuck him into his bed, beneath his blankets. He closes his eyes when Seonghwa kisses his forehead, smooths back his hair.

“Sleep,” Seonghwa urges. “Sleep, Jaehwan. Try to get some rest.” Jaehwan doesn't respond, but Seonghwa doesn't expect him to. He tugs the covers up a little higher and gets up. He leaves Jaehwan's room after cleaning the mess in the bathroom—throwing away the bloodied shirt and rags, closing the bag and tying it off. He replaces it with a new one from under the sink and carries the closed bag out of the room with him. It takes all of Seonghwa's considerable willpower to walk past the door where that disgusting bastard is staying. He makes it downstairs and the others all turn to him, probably at the scent of blood on his skin, at the wet bag in his hand.

“Seonghwa?” Yunho asks, and Seonghwa waves his free hand.

“We will speak of this later,” he says, and walks towards the back of the shop, into the back room, where Seonghwa knows there is an ever-burning fireplace. He also knows it will torch anything put in it to dust, so he throws the entire bag in. He watches it burn like he wishes Lee Hongbin was burning. He wishes that beast had never come here, he wishes that monster had stayed in New York with the rest of them and burned like he should have because it was his violence that caused this, it was _his_ hate that had set the hunters on New York. It is his apathy and cruelty that have ripped apart one of the most gentle, well-protected, viciously guarded souls Seonghwa has ever encountered. Lee Jaehwan, when one moves past his coy and flippant exterior, is a man so full of kindness and love that it consumes him. It overflows from his very being. And Lee Hongbin had chosen to stay in New York with the memories of his dead lover, had left Jaehwan on his own to start over, hadn't cared a single moment that Jaehwan has been _suffering_ all this time. That his love is stained with sadness, that even his smiles seem lost and small.

Lee Hongbin does not know, and likely would not care if he did, that Jaehwan has traded his life for Hongbin's. Nine months are all Jaehwan has _left._ Nine months, and he has to spend them with the monster that is the source of all his pain to begin with. Jaehwan will willingly spend those nine months with Hongbin because he loves him past the point of rationality—loves him, very literally, to death.

Yunho embraces Seonghwa from behind. His heartbeat is even and low.

“Seonghwa.”

“I need to leave,” he says, almost hisses through his teeth. “I need to leave this place before I go up those stairs and take that _wretch_ apart, before I _flay him_ in the smallest slices until his guts fall out through the ribboning of his flesh.”

“We're going,” Yunho promises. “The others are already gone. We'll go, Seonghwa, you and me.”

 _You and me._ That's what Yunho had said back then, too. _You and me, forever._

_For as long as we have, you mean._

_Well,_ Yunho had laughed. _As long as we're careful, we're going to have the rest of our lives, so... Forever._

Seonghwa turns. Fists his hands in Yunho's shirt and breathes, breathes, breathes like he hasn't needed to do in centuries but he needs it now, needs the passage of air in and out of his body, needs to breathe in Yunho's scent and his warmth and all of his beauty. His kind heart, his strong soul, his absolute faith that the two of them will have forever, as long as they're careful.

They have the rest of their lives. Forever.

Longer than nine months could ever hope to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little more outside perspective.

Personally, Jongho thinks that it's very strange, how they haven't been back to Jaehwan's to help him clean up all week. They said they were going to help, but Seonghwa had said it wasn't necessary anymore, and Jongho isn't sure if that's because someone else went to help Jaehwan or if something fishy is going on and no one wants to tell him.

He suspects the second.

He suspects the second because Yeosang had some kind of conversation with Seonghwa and Yunho that had left him tense and on edge for a couple of days before he slipped into a resigned kind of... Bleak depression. He's been staying in bed a lot. He cries a lot. He won't tell anyone why.

Well. Jongho has had quite enough, thank you.

So he takes it upon himself to head out to the shop one quiet afternoon, when he thinks Jaehwan will be awake and available. He doesn't tell anyone where he's going because he doesn't want to. Whatever is happening... Jongho and Jaehwan might not have made the _best_ first impressions on one another, but they've gotten better, over time. They actually have a lot in common, as far as interests go—history, crafting, metal working—so they always have something to talk about.

But the shop feels different as Jongho walks into it. It feels... Heavy, but hollow. Like it's a big empty house threatening to collapse in on itself at any moment. He doesn't like it, he doesn't like it at _all._

“Oh, Jongho,” Jaehwan says, smiling from behind the counter. “Come in, come in. Where are the others?”

“Left'em at home,” Jongho says, sitting in his favorite chair and bouncing a little. “I wanted to see you! It looks like the cleaning went well?”

“Aah, yes,” Jaehwan nods. “Once I had bit of power back under me, it was easy to take care of. Though I appreciate you all coming to help, that was very sweet of you.”

“We only did it because it's you,” Jongho promises, and Jaehwan laughs, though it doesn't have... As much joy in it as it usually does. It, like the shop itself, feels a little hollow.

“Are you okay?”

“Mm?”

“Are you okay,” Jongho says, looking straight at Jaehwan and watching the way his entire body seems to freeze. “Because you don't seem okay.”

“I'm just... Very tired,” Jaehwan says. “There's a lot of work to be done.”

“You should let me help.”

“I'm sure that's not ne—”

“So what can I do?”

Jongho has discovered that sometimes the best way to deal with beings older than you are is to just barrel them over until they crack. Show them how much you care about them, over and over again, and they'll eventually give in to your pressing. Like San. And Wooyoung, and Yunho, and basically everyone except Seonghwa, but he's made of special stuff that means you have to be a little more gentle, weirdly enough. Maybe Jaehwan is made of that gentle stuff, too. Jaehwan smiles at Jongho, tenderly, and motions him over to the counter. His expression reminds Jongho of Yeosang, that first year they were together. When Yeosang was still so sad about Gunwoo, but was working to find joy in his time with Jongho, and it was working. Like the pain lessened every moment they spent in one another's company and Jongho decides that he's going to visit more often. He walks around the counter to stand beside Jaehwan, who has a bunch of flowers out on the counter, lit by the warm overhead lights and by the bright LED strip light that hangs over the stretch of the counter.

“This is how you purify plants,” Jaehwan says. His hands are dexterous and his voice is warm as he starts to explain. Jongho hadn't expected a lesson, but that's all right. He likes it when Jaehwan teaches him things that witches know. It makes Jongho feel like he's being let in on a secret, which fills him with a childish kind of joy. The others would probably tease him about it if they knew.

So he spends the afternoon and into the evening being taught how to purify plants, candles, crystals, wands, pendants and metals. He isn't sure he'll remember all of it, but Jaehwan just laughs and shows him a large book under the counter, in the hollow bottom of a drawer where it is tucked in tight and safe.

“This is my grimoire,” he explains. “It contains everything I know about my craft. Someday it's going to be yours, you know. Yours, and your family's.”

“What? Why?” Jongho asks, and Jaehwan reaches to ruffle his hair.

“I'm hardly going to live forever, am I?” he asks, and Jongho blinks up at him.

“Well... Well I mean, I mean _no,_ but—”

“So someone has to take over the shop, and I've decided that it will be a member of your family. Or your entire family, as you all see fit. I admit it's not traditional,” Jaehwan cuts Jongho off, just as he'd been about to protest that they're not witches _at all,_ and aren't shops supposed to be passed down to other witches?

“It's not traditional, but Hongjoong has enough magic in him for all of you, and you're the most booksmart. And you have the best memory. Don't think I haven't noticed, Jongho, because I have.”

Jongho, who fed the day before, flushes a little because he'd been about to fuss and claim he wasn't, even though he knows it is.

“Still,” Jongho says, feeling sad to think that someday Jaehwan will die. He sometimes forgets that just because his own family will live on forever as long as they're careful, Jaehwan will not. He feels like a favorite cousin—Jongho doesn't want to think about him dying.

“Just, you know. Don't go anytime soon, okay?” He hugs Jaehwan around the ribs. “I want you to stay.”

With his preternatural senses, Jongho can hear the way Jaehwan squeezes his eyes closed. He can hear the wet blinking that means whoever he's hugging is trying not to cry.

“Jaehwan?”

“Oh, Jongho.” Jaehwan's lips are pressed to the top of his head and Jongho gets the distinct feeling that he is missing something. That some vital piece of information is missing from the puzzle called Lee Jaehwan at this moment.

“Oh Jongho. You're so sweet. However did you end up with that gang of hooligans you call your family?”

“I dunno,” Jongho says, not letting go. “I mean I did eat Yeosang.”

“By accident, or so he tells me.”

“I mean, _mostly_ by accident,” Jongho mumbles. Jaehwan laughs, and kisses the top of his head, and when he moves away, Jongho catches him wiping little tears away from his eyes. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Of course,” Jaehwan says. “I'm just a little emotional, that's all. To think you hated me when you first met me, and now here you are, telling me you want me to stay.”

“I didn't _hate_ you,” Jongho says. “And I _do_ want you to stay. If I had my way you'd stay forever. Can witches be turned? We could turn you, then you really _would_ be stuck with us forever.”

“Aah,” Jaehwan shakes his head. “No, Jongho. The magic—the magic inherent to vampires, and the magic inherent to witches—would just cancel one another out. So if you tried to turn me, I would just be a magicless mortal, and I don't think I could live like that.”

“No...” Jongho shakes his head. “I don't want you to. I want you to stay just the way you are, for as long as you can.” Jaehwan looks like he's going to cry and his voice is a little choked when he says,

“I want that, too. To stay just the way I am, for as long as I can.”

“Jaehwan?” Jongho asks again, looking up at him. Jaehwan's usually glittering orange eyes are dull, and there are tears in them, just waiting to fall. “Jaehwan what—what's wrong? Are you okay? You—you haven't been, I mean you don't _seem_ okay, and—”

“Jaehwan?”

Jongho bristles at the voice by the stairwell. He has known from the get-go that He Does Not Like Lee Hongbin Anymore. The second he walked into the shop and Hongbin's presence felt different—every moment Jongho felt that violent and chaotic energy screaming out of him, sometimes literally, his fear has grown, and his affection has lessened. He doesn't know where the Hongbin he knew is. He doesn't know where _his_ Hongbin, his teasing, sly-eye, coy-smile Hongbin has disappeared to, but Jongho doesn't like this person that exists in Hongbin's place, inside his body like Hongbin's skin is being worn as a suit.

“Yes, Hongbin.” Jaehwan's voice sounds all wrong. Jongho looks up at him and sees his dead expression and shudders. That's how Hongjoong looks when he's in the middle of an episode. Like he's just a corpse. Unseeing, uncaring. Moving onward because of internal mechanations rather than his conscious will.

“May I speak with you.”

“Yes.” Jaehwan looks down at Jongho. He smiles, and it's empty, but his tears are gone. “Go home now,” he says, and Jongho nods, slowly letting go of him. He moves around Hongbin in a skitter, not wanting to come into contact with this man he doesn't know anymore. Hongbin looks hurt. Jongho can't find it in himself to care.

“I'll see you tomorrow!” he calls to Jaehwan, smiling and waving his hand back and forth as he closes the door. He feels the shop close itself behind him, feels its door lock and shutter, and Jongho wonders why it was that Jaehwan and Hongbin had looked at one another so desperately and so.... Was it hate? Or something else? He wonders also why Jaehwan had shown him the grimoire, where it was hidden behind the counter. He's never let any of them see it before, even though he's talked about it.

_I'm hardly going to live forever, am I?_

Jongho shudders at the thought, moves faster. He wants to go home, he wants to see Hongjoong and Yunho and Yeosang and everyone, he wants to—he wants to crawl out of his skin, he feels like he shouldn't have left but the shop is closed now, so there's nothing he can do except wait for the next day to come so he can go back. Maybe Jaehwan will teach him more. Maybe the thing pretending to be Hongbin will stay upstairs where it belongs.

Maybe Jongho's instincts will stop screaming at him that something is wrong, something is wrong, something is wrong, and there's nothing he can do to fix it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the others arrive.

Taekwoon had insisted they leave as soon as possible. Even then, they hadn't been able to leave as quickly as he'd wanted. He'd wanted to be on a plane the next day, he'd wanted to leave _immediately,_ but that simply wasn't an option. Too many loose ends.

So now, nearly _three weeks later,_ they are finally landing in New Orleans. Thank the merciful Goddess herself, because Taekwoon has run out of patience. He needs to see them _now,_ he needs to be with them _now._ Hakyeon and Wonsik understand—it's the rest of the universe that doesn't seem to care about his urgency. Taekwoon had known, even all those years ago, that their separation would end badly, he'd known, had tried to tell them, Wonsik had tried to tell them, even Hakyeon had tried to tell them. But in the aftermath of the catalyst—in the aftermath of Gong Chansik's death, Hongbin had been too devastated, and Jaehwan too helpless in the face of his pain, for any words to be heard. Taekwoon hadn't been able to convince either of them that it would be better to stay together, that it would be better to...

No matter. All that matters is that the two of them are together and Jaehwan has done something _monumentally_ foolish. The fact that Taekwoon had woken to feel it on the other side of the _planet_ is enough of an indication of the absolute lunacy of whatever it was he'd done. Taekwoon tries not to think about it, worries at his lip with his teeth and focuses on keeping his eyes closed. Wonsik holds his hand.

Hakyeon drives them to the shop—in the same place it's been since Jaehwan came here in 1996—and parks outside. Taekwoon is a little motion-sick, so he holds on to Wonsik's wrist until he's steady again. Louisiana is too hot for his tastes, despite his light layers. He manages to roll his eyes up at the sign, though. _Blackest Night._ Jaehwan's shop is _so_ gauche. It would make Taekwoon laugh if only he wasn't so worried.

He pushes the door open. He has no idea what to expect, but whatever he'd thought he was going to find, Jaehwan sitting behind the counter with a strangely familiar young vampire, and Hongbin's presence nowhere to be felt, is not it.

“Taekwoon,” Jaehwan says, sounding puzzled. “Wh—oh. Hakyeon, Wonsik. What's the occasion?”

Taekwoon can feel it in the air, in the very breaths Jaehwan is taking. He can feel the fear, and the pain, and the misery. It hurts him. He staggers, and Wonsik catches him.

“Taekwoon,” Jaehwan says, pushing away from his counter. The little vampire, Taekwoon notices, is holding Jaehwan's grimoire, on his lap and in both hands. Sweet merciful Goddess. It's worse than he thought, whatever he'd thought it was going to be.

“Taekwoon, are you all right?”

“Tired,” Taekwoon offers a smile. “It was... A sudden flight, and I didn't really sleep. I'm sorry for intruding on your lessons.”

“Oh, they're not lessons,” Jaehwan lies. Taekwoon can see it. “Jongho was just curious, that's all. Jongho, come here.” As Wonsik brings Taekwoon to sit down on the couch, the little vampire comes closer, the grimoire left on the counter. He feels like, _smells_ like, Yeosang.

“This is one of my friends, Jung Taekwoon, he's a witch. This is Hakyeon, and Wonsik. They're witches too, but they don't get to have last names because they're not important.” Jaehwan smiles, and the little vampire laughs before looking curiously over at them.

“Jung Taekwoon? From Korea?”

“Mm,” Taekwoon nods. “I take it you are associated with Kang Yeosang.”

“He's my caretaker,” Jongho nods, as though this is something that vampires normally admit to, being... tied to one human. An immortal human, but a human nonetheless. “Do you have any news about his mentor, maybe?”

“He is as he has been,” Taekwoon says. “But no rise or decline is a good thing. He is steady and stable. That is more than we could have hoped for, after such a time. You should tell Yeosang that.”

“I will,” Jongho says, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I need to head back anyway, I promised Hongjoong I'd go out with him tonight. I'll see you tomorrow, Jaehwan!”

“I'll be here,” Jaehwan calls, smiling sweetly, sadly, as the door closes behind the little vampire named Jongho. Jaehwan has had no other kind of smile since his first three years of living in the House in New York.

“What have you _done,_ ” Hakyeon hisses, as soon as the door closes. “What have you _done,_ Lee Jaehwan!”

“I, nothing, I haven't—”

“Do not _lie._ To me.”

Jaehwan is cowed, as most are, in the face of Hakyeon's sheer presence. Hakyeon is... Hakyeon is many things, and this is one of the things that he is, that he does. Not quite intimidation, but when he demands the truth, people usually give it to him. Jaehwan looks like he's trying to hold out, though—backing away, putting his grimoire back into its hiding place, tidying up the counter.

“ _Answer me._ ”

Jaehwan flinches at his loud tone, but says nothing. Jaehwan hates loud noises. He has always hated them, for as long as Taekwoon has known him, and with good reason.

“Where is Hongbin, then,” Wonsik asks, his voice considerably more gentle. “We know he's here, and I wish to speak with him.”

“Upstairs,” Jaehwan whispers. “The second door on the left.”

Wonsik disappears from Taekwoon's side. Jaehwan stands there behind the counter, looking very small, and very lost. Like he always has, Taekwoon thinks. Has there ever been a moment when Jaehwan was not a lost and frightened child, wanting nothing more than to be safe, to be loved?

“Jaehwan,” Hakyeon murmurs, moving closer to him. “Jaehwan, darling. What have you done?” Taekwoon watches Hakyeon place his hands on either side of Jaehwan's neck. Watches him push back Jaehwan's hair. Watches Jaehwan crumple against him, face hidden in his hands.

“I couldn't,” Jaehwan whimpers, cries. “I couldn't, I couldn't let him go, please, I can't—he was going to leave, he was—I can't lose him too— _I_ _love him—_ ”

Perhaps that is the cruelest pain of all, Taekwoon thinks, as Jaehwan all but collapses to the floor and Hakyeon goes with him, cooing softly in a language Jaehwan does not speak because the words do not matter so much as the comfort they make him feel. What agony it must be to love so deeply that you would offer, give, dedicate your life, you _do_ offer, give, dedicate your life, and yet know that the person you love would never do the same for you. Hongbin had pledged his life to Gongchan long before he'd ever met Jaehwan, but Taekwoon had once thought Hongbin could find the room in his heart for Jaehwan, too.

 _He's like the sun,_ he'd told Taekwoon, the day after they'd met in the park. Taekwoon had been able to hear the excited smile spreading across his face. _Taekwoon he's so bright, he's so beautiful. You'll love him._

Taekwoon still isn't sure why they changed, why Hongbin's feelings changed. Why any mention of Jaehwan was carefully avoided, why any questions were answered vaguely if at all. Taekwoon had met Jaehwan, of course. He'd been a beautiful, silly, sun-shiney boy. He had been bright and sweet and happy and it was very endearing. Hakyeon had been taken with him immediately, all but adopted him. But the witches he _belonged_ with, that was a different story. Gongchan had never really... Well. It wasn't that he didn't care, it was that he cared about many things, and Jaehwan was simply another one of those things. Hongbin...

Taekwoon had been able to see the lie of affection in his words, in his actions. He'd been hoping that with time Hongbin's fear would leave him, but that had been foolish. Very few were cursed with a power so strong as Hongbin. Even as a child, Hongbin's Sight had been... Beyond phenomenal. But with his Sight came the madness that all Seers suffered. Hongbin suffered greatly. Even when he'd been with Gongchan, and for the brief time he'd been with Jaehwan, Hongbin had never been able to completely free himself of his insanities. They were cruel. They told him terrible things that he knew were true and he knew there was nothing he could do to fix it, to make it better, to make it stop. Gongchan had managed to... Allay that. He'd managed to help Hongbin gain some control over himself, though he'd always suffered fits. Less with Gongchan than he had before. But Taekwoon had been hoping Jaehwan's light might help lead Hongbin away from dark places. He'd been hoping that Jaehwan would... Not fix Hongbin, but help Hongbin move truly towards the healing process. Towards better control, towards becoming a better version of himself than the one he thought he was cursed to be.

But Jaehwan's sunlight had suffocated to little more than the flicker of a candle, and Gongchan was taken away, and from there...

“I know I should have let him go,” Jaehwan is gasping over Hakyeon's shoulder, where Hakyeon is holding Jaehwan tight to his chest. “I should have let him be with Chansik, I know he wanted to, I know I should have but I couldn't, I can't, I love him, any time is better than no time at all, I didn't want to be alone, I don't want to be alone anymore it hurts, it _hurts—_ ”

Yes, Taekwoon knows that it hurts. He can feel how badly it hurts, even from across the room. He has never been alone as Jaehwan has. He has never been forcibly separated from Wonsik and Hakyeon. He suspects that he would rather die.

Taekwoon feels the tears on his cheeks as Hakyeon holds Jaehwan to him, fiercely kissing his hair.

“What was the vampire doing, reading from your grimoire?” Taekwoon asks, once Jaehwan has himself a little more under control.

“I'm,” Jaehwan starts, swallows, starts again. “I'm leaving the shop to him. The shop and the House.”

“He is not a witch?” Hakyeon asks.

“He doesn't have to be,” Jaehwan says, tucked under Hakyeon's chin. “One of his family has... More than enough magic to sustain it. He's intelligent, compassionate, kind. I couldn't hope for better heirs than Yeosang's brood. They're all...” Jaehwan smiles. “They are all like the sun.”

“A strange way to describe vampires,” Hakyeon points out, and Jaehwan laughs.

“Yes,” he nods. “But it's true.”

There are a few moments of silence and then Hakyeon asks so very, very tenderly,

“Jaehwan. What have you done?”

Taekwoon watches Jaehwan close his eyes. Watches the translucent orange tears shimmer down his cheeks and feels the absolute misery choking Jaehwan to death from the inside out.

“I made an exchange,” Jaehwan whispers, as though he's afraid someone will hear him. Maybe he's afraid Hongbin will hear. Hongbin likely doesn't know. Perhaps he wouldn't care even if he did.

“What did you exchange,” Hakyeon asks, rubbing his hands up and down Jaehwan's back in comfort. Taekwoon knows just how comforting that embrace is. How solid, how stalwart and _real_ Hakyeon is, when he chooses to be.

“...life,” Jaehwan breathes it out. “All it took.”

“How much did it take, Jaehwan?”

“Everything,” Jaehwan hiccups out, pressing his forehead to Hakyeon's shoulder. “Everything but—almost more than I had. Everything but eight months.”

“Eight months,” Hakyeon says, glancing over at Taekwoon, who is too busy being overwhelmed by emotions, by the implications of Jaehwan's words. He'd traded his life for Hongbin's life. He'd wanted Hongbin to live so desperately that he'd offered what he had to the universe and the universe had taken it.

“I couldn't let him leave,” Jaehwan whispers, tears sliding down his face, dripping onto Hakyeon's black shirt. “I couldn't let him leave me. I need him. I didn't want to be left here alone, please, I just didn't want to be alone—I've been alone for so long—”

It will kill a witch, eventually. Being alone. They aren't meant to be alone. Like the snake eating itself, they destroy themselves in the agony of needing to feel more, to have more. They die in the attempt to fill the empty space where their family should be.

It shouldn't surprise Taekwoon that Jaehwan is so close to his death. He's been hovering at the edge of it since 1996, holding onto life by his fingertips. Perhaps when Hongbin first came here Jaehwan had hoped that something might have changed, but it seems clear to Taekwoon that nothing has. Jaehwan once again gives and gives and gives, and Hongbin takes only what is convenient for him and rebuffs everything else: words and actions of affection, devotion and care.

Even now, Taekwoon can feel that upstairs, Hongbin is just as miserable as Jaehwan is. For different reasons. He can't discern them when he is this far away from Hongbin, but he knows that what the two of them are feeling are two halves of the same story. Except that Hongbin has lost his family, and Jaehwan was never allowed to have a family to lose. They never let him get that close.

“Why didn't they love me,” Jaehwan whispers, fingers fisted into Hakyeon's sweater. “Why didn't they love me, what did I do wrong?” He doesn't expect an answer, but there is something lingering there, something ugly at the back of his mind. A kick, a slap, a shove. Unkind words said in unkind tones, a child, a little child with bright, sparkling eyes and endless love in his soul left behind, crying, _what did I do, what did I do?_

Taekwoon's heart aches. To be surrounded by so much pain hurts him so badly. He can feel that Hakyeon is trying to get Jaehwan under some kind of control, holds Jaehwan in both arms, on his lap as he pushes them up into a chair instead of leaving them on the floor. Jaehwan cries like a little child now—wrapped up in what Taekwoon knows to be the endless comfort of Hakyeon's embrace, Jaehwan cries for everything he should have had but didn't. For everything he's ever loved that never loved him in return and that includes Hongbin and Gongchan. They are both equally guilty, as far as Taekwoon is concerned. Gongchan had perhaps been a little kinder about it, but Hongbin hadn't even tried.

“It's nothing that you did or didn't do, Jaehwannie,” Hakyeon promises. “It has nothing to do with who you are, or what you are. It's not your fault.”

“I tried so hard,” Jaehwan whispers. “I tried. I tried, I tried they didn't want me, they didn't want me. They didn't want me.” Something old, and ugly, and hateful crawls up out of Jaehwan's heart. It would frighten Taekwoon if it weren't so pathetic. Weak and tired, dying because Jaehwan is dying. Eight months of his life left, the rest given away to bring Hongbin back and what was the point, Taekwoon wonders, as that ugly thing comforts Jaehwan like a child rocking itself, sucking its thumb. What was the point in giving up so much when Hongbin would likely only squander it, perhaps even cut it short by suicide in his desire to be with Gongchan? It's a miracle Hongbin hasn't killed himself before now.

That old and ugly thing wraps itself around Jaehwan like armor, but it's worn so thin. Maybe it's what's kept him alive all this time. Maybe he's finally too exhausted to maintain it. Maybe it's all he's had around his heart this entire time. It's clear he's not been so well-guarded as he has pretended to be.

“I just wanted them to love me,” Jaehwan says, the words shivering out of him with terrible resignation. “It doesn't matter. It hasn't... In eight months, it won't matter.”

“What won't matter?”

Taekwoon can hear, can feel, that Hongbin is lucid. That he is ravaged, yes. Exhausted, weak from his fits, his bouts of madness and violence and screaming. Weak with retching, weak with sobbing, just weak. Just as weak as Jaehwan, in a different way. Taekwoon can feel, without turning around, that Wonsik has to hold Hongbin up, because he can't stand by himself.

“Jaehwan?” Hongbin whispers into the silence, and Jaehwan will not look at him. He turns his face away and curls more tightly against Hakyeon, who is glaring at Hongbin like a mother who expected better behavior from her son. “Wh...”

Taekwoon winces as filthy madness pierces through Hongbin's brain like a hot knife. It is an almost physical sensation—Hongbin staggers, reaching for his head, falling to his knees in Taekwoon's peripheral vision. Hongbin's eyes are wide open as he stares at the floor, as he heaves up bile, as Wonsik tries to keep him upright and can't. Hongbin shakes, shakes shakes and his fingernails claw at the hardwood.

“No,” he keeps saying, shaking his head, shaking it more violently, whipping it back and forth with his hands on either side as though he's trying to keep himself still but is unable. The tightness of his grip is threatening to pull his hair from his scalp. “No, no no no—you can't, you can't, not—you can't, Jaehwan you can't—what have, what have you _done—_ ”

“Hongbin,” Jaehwan pushes away from Hakyeon, stumbles to his knees and Hongbin stares at him until he comes closer. In his fits, Hongbin is... Terrible. His eyes are too large, his teeth are too sharp, but his golden tears still shimmer on his skin. He salivates and coughs and spits up and pulls at his hair, claws at it, all the while shaking his head, his voice growing louder, increasing to a frantic shrieking. Hongbin in his fits is terrible but this?

This is somehow worse. He must be able to glean the information from them, because his Sight probably won't him see, not when he and Jaehwan are this physically close, even if he didn't care. Hongbin's Sight pulls the knowledge from Taekwoon, from Hakyeon, because the Goddess and the universe know it will hurt him, and so it does. Hongbin is sick with it.

Hongbin, kneeling in his own bile, thin as he has ever been, is shaking with exhaustion and hunched in absolute misery. Hongbin is staring at Jaehwan as the two of them would have never looked at one another again, if Taekwoon and his lovers had not come here. They would have spend the next eight months—all the time Jaehwan has left—in silence, brushing past one another but never touching, never feeling, denying what they needed, what they wanted to badly, because they were afraid to have it taken away.

They are so much more alike than they know. Agonizingly similar. Reflections of one another. Where Jaehwan knew only how to give, Hongbin only knew how to take. Jaehwan knew how to hope, but Hongbin had never learned how. Hongbin had grown used to his misery but Jaehwan had never been able to tolerate it, had been weak against it.

“What was the point,” Hongbin breathes, his entire body shuddering, saliva dripping from his mouth between dry heaves. “What... Why did you, did you bother, if—if you were just—just going to leave again—you're going to _leave me,_ Jaehwan you're going to leave me _again,_ you're going to leave me alone here—”

_I couldn't let him leave me. I need him. I didn't want to be left here alone, please, I just didn't want to be alone—I've been alone for so long—_

“I,” Jaehwan whispers, reaching to hold Hongbin's wrists, trying to gently pull Hongbin's fists from his hair. When Hongbin's fingers claw into his forearms instead, Jaehwan barely flinches. Taekwoon watches, forcing himself to be as stone. Quiet and stable as a mountain.

“Hongbin,” Jaehwan says, and Hongbin shakes his head. Taekwoon watches them maintaining their eye contact. “I just—I wanted to keep you, just... Just a little longer, just... I wanted a little more _time._ ”

“Eight months,” Hongbin bares his teeth. “You traded yourself away for eight months of _misery—_ ”

“No, Hongbin.” Jaehwan's voice is firm. Trying to be stone when Hongbin is slipping in sand. He is forcing Hongbin to hold his hands. They are holding on to one another like if they let go, they will never find each other again.

“No. I traded it away for eight more months with _you._ And I'd—I'd do it again, in a heartbeat, Hongbin I'm so sorry I couldn't save him, I wanted to save him, I _tried—_ ” Jaehwan leans forward, presses his forehead against Hongbin's. Their tears on the floor look like little shines of fire.

“I'm sorry,” Jaehwan whispers. “I'm sorry. I couldn't lose you too. Not when I could save you.”

“In eight months, I lose you,” Hongbin replies, shaking violently. “I lose you. Just like I lost him, I'm going to lose you, I'm going to lose you for real this time, don't, please don't, Jaehwan don't leave me behind, please, I can't lose you you're all I have left please—”

Whatever else Hongbin says to Jaehwan is lost in how close they press to one another, despite Hongbin's spit and sick. Hongbin's whispers and low and frantic. Jaehwan's eyes close and he presses his cheek into Hongbin's hair as he whispers in reply.

“I know,” he says, kissing Hongbin's head, his ear, his temple. Taekwoon can feel the soft, frightened love moving out from them, only barely touching. The tender-hearted, abused and terrified love that is so afraid to lose it almost doesn't reach out at all, because it truly is better to have never loved at all.

“I know, Bean. I know.”

“No,” Hongbin says, clearly. “You don't. But you will. You will.”

Taekwoon feels, as he sits here in the House that Jaehwan built, the faintly glowing and blossoming yellow as it moves up the walls, the windows. It's not much, not yet. But it's enough. It's a start. Taekwoon knows he isn't going to leave this place; not for a while. But that's all right. There might not be anything any of them can do about what Jaehwan has done. His actions are likely irreversible. But they're going to stay together for now. Taekwoon knows that they need to. That the House Jaehwan has built has already created a door upstairs that will take them back to their home in Korea, or to a suite of bedrooms tuned to them, whichever they choose.

As Taekwoon moves up the stairs, following after Jaehwan and Hongbin, who move toward the same room, their hands clasped... As Taekwoon moves up the stairs, he can't help but notice that there is another door he has never seen before at the end of the hallway. It's a very simple door, but he knows that if he tried to open it, it would not budge. Perhaps it only opens from the other side. Perhaps it will never open at all.

Then again. Perhaps it will.

~

He pulls into the driveway of a hotel in Baton Rouge. The air is heavy with rain and the smell of graveyard dirt, but that doesn't bother him at all, it never has. It's just like up north, only warmer; petrichor is always the same. Like rock, or grass, or trees, or the ocean. It feels good though, he decides, as he pulls off his helmet to make his way inside. Refreshing, despite the heat. He ruffles his hair and shoves it back out of his face.

He takes a room just for the night. He'll make it to New Orleans tomorrow, find somewhere to park his bike. He'll follow the smell of the sunshine, and the dirt, and the trees, wherever they want to lead him. They've never done him wrong before—he'll find what's at the end of the beam of light right there in that city. He's sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess the next chapter is more like a bonus?


	5. Chapter 5

When Wonsik opens the door, Hongbin shrinks further against the far wall. Jaehwan has not stepped inside this room in who knows how long, Jaehwan has not said anything to him. Hongbin had gone downstairs only once, because he felt another presence—had been heartbroken to see that it was Jongho. Not only was it Jongho, but a suspicious and frightened Jongho. Hongbin had been reminded, suddenly and viciously, of just how badly he'd been ruined before Go... Before he'd been helped. Before he'd been guided, assisted, assured of his humanity instead of his insanity, like a Seer in ancient Greece might have been.

Jongho had made a point not to touch him but Hongbin had to grab his head when the door closed after him, hissed in air through his teeth, fallen against the wall. He Saw, briefly, a moment of joy, and it broke his heart further that he hadn't Seen anything like that in a very long time—a moment of joy, of peace and happiness. Hongbin had Seen Jongho pressed against Wooyoung—seen them share a chaste and tender kiss. _That's all you get,_ Jongho had said, laughing, squeezing Wooyoung tightly. _It's all I've ever wanted,_ Wooyoung had replied, kissing the top of Jongho's head. _Thank you._

It hurt, sweet merciful Goddess it hurt so badly that Hongbin had fallen to his knees and put his hands over his face to hide his ugly expression, his hideous features, and weep. Jaehwan had tried to ask him what was wrong, but Hongbin had flinched away from him, too distressed to be comforted, just like when Go... Before. When he'd pushed Jaehwan away because he was in too much pain to see that Jaehwan just wanted to hold him, to ease his pain.

 _Come on,_ Jaehwan had whispered, his voice wavering. _Let me get you upstairs._

Hongbin hadn't wanted to go back into the room that felt like all the love he'd never deserved. He'd clung pathetically, desperately tried to stay in the hallway, but Jaehwan was gentle, and soft, and Hongbin was weak against those things like he'd always been weak against those things. Even a crumb of those things as a child had him weeping with gratitude, with joy, because he got them so rarely. Soon he'd stopped asking for them at all. When he'd finally been found by... His first covenmate, he had been locked in a basement lined in talismans and spells and anything he could find to try and give himself silence, though it was never granted to him. He'd been disgusting, emaciated and wretched and filthy, but still. Still, he'd been lifted out of the dark with gentleness, with tenderness, and his heart had belonged to his covenmate ever after. He'd wished, very fervently and quietly, that it could have belonged to his second covenmate, too. Jaehwan, who was like the sun. Even at their first meeting, Hongbin had known they would be so good for one another, they would help one another so much.

Then that _hateful_ vision had left him on the kitchen floor after silently making his way down from Jaehwan's jungle of a bedroom. Had him crying, ugly, into his arms to keep himself quiet. For eleven years, he'd wished he'd never met Jaehwan. For eleven years he _mourned_ Jaehwan, because ever since that night in 1985 it had felt like he was already gone. It was too dangerous to fall into the memory of him, too dangerous to love him—Hongbin had already lost so much, he couldn't stand to lose Jaehwan, too.

Then he'd lost Gongchan, and... And it had all gone to hell and he knew it was his fault just as much as Jaehwan's. More his fault. Jaehwan had only done what any sane person would have done, but Hongbin was not sane. He played very well at sanity, as he moved through his daily routine without a single movement out of alignment. He couldn't change it. The second he did he would lose his mind, he knew that. So he counted on his routine—on the shop and its ghosts—to help him stay in his own self, instead of being forced out by the ability to See.

Then the sleep paralysis demon had come, and Hongbin knew... He knew that things were going to go so terribly, terribly wrong. It got harder and harder to hold on to himself, harder and harder to stay close to himself. He'd tried to warn everyone, he'd tried. He'd Seen fire, he'd Seen the city burning and people dying—sometimes specific people, and he tried so hard to make them see, and while many of them had listened, many had not. Perhaps it was because they didn't believe Hongbin had the Sight. Perhaps because they'd never witnessed it personally, they thought he was lying. But, like that classical story of Cassandra, what Hongbin had said turned out to be true. And even though Hongbin had been practically _in_ New Orleans at that point, traveling from the magical door in the basement, something followed him, chased after him, clawed through his brain like rot and by the time he'd reached Jaehwan—

By the time he'd reached the safety of Jaehwan's House, he was nearly gone. He _had_ gone, he felt it, with Jaehwan clutching desperately to him, the door slamming shut and the warmth, the beautiful warmth and comfort of the House that Jaehwan built flooding all around him.

As he died, Hongbin felt himself bleed. Felt his mind completely and truly clear, for the first time... Ever. He felt Jaehwan's heart under his ear, beating hard and fast. He felt Jaehwan's magic, orange and glowing, soft as twilight clouds, surrounding them. He'd heard Jaehwan's voice, his beautiful, beautiful voice, the one that used to sing in the back hallway to his plants, _you are my sunshine,_ beg him not to go. Not to leave. Jaehwan had called him _lover_ and all Hongbin had wanted in that moment was to tell Jaehwan that he wanted to love him, he'd wanted to love him so, so badly, and he was sorry he'd been so afraid, he was sorry he'd been so weak, had let his ability to See ruin what they could have had together. He'd reached for Jaehwan, as he slipped away. But on the other side of the mirror was Gongchan, looking as beautiful as he had in life. He was smiling gently, pushing back Hongbin's hair.

 _Not yet,_ he'd whispered, kissing Hongbin's forehead. _Not yet, darling. No time soon. I promise. You'll have more time. You'll have so much time in the sun under the trees. You'll have so much time to love them. To let them love you. Don't be afraid, Hongbin. I'll be here when it's time, but he's looking for you. So you need to go._

Hongbin hadn't been able to speak, and he wasn't sure he'd have wanted to. He turned, and saw an effigy of Jaehwan standing there, surrounded in bright orange light, in _burning_ orange light, quickly fading.

 _You can't leave,_ he'd said, his voice devastated. He darkened with every word. _You can't leave me, Hongbin—_

Hongbin had moved to him. Had embraced the magic that looked like Jaehwan and was calling him back toward life with the sound and vibration of an agonized scream.

Hongbin had known that Jaehwan had the Voice. But he hadn't known just how much magic it took to use it. Even as he'd coughed up blood, even as he felt his body heal, he could feel all the magic drain out of Jaehwan like the dissolution of candlewax. But he hadn't had the strength to speak, and instead had just laid against Jaehwan, panting for air, hand fisted in his wet shirt while Jaehwan wept into his hair like he was the one who almost died.

Then Yeosang's family had come, because they'd felt something wrong, because they wanted to help. Hongbin had missed them so much while they were gone, but they did not know him. They did not know him and Hongbin couldn't make it stop, couldn't make the Sight stop, over the next few days. He hadn't been able to silence himself, hated himself for that. But he hadn't wanted to be alone upstairs, either.

He'd Seen that the hunter and his lover would arrive. He'd Seen that the vampire would die without help. He hadn't been able to express that the way he wanted, when he'd wanted to say it. Jaehwan had pulled him upstairs for his cruel and tactless words. Then they'd... Well. Hongbin wouldn't call it fighting. It was mutual fear and anger, years of pent up hate and sadness and misery. Jaehwan had asked, _Did you ever love me at all?_ And Hongbin, unable to control what was coming out of his mouth, what he was doing—watching like a horrified bystander and screaming for the thing inside himself to stop, Goddess please, just _stop—_ had said, soulless and cruel,

_No._

Hongbin had seen Jaehwan's soul crack in half. Had felt it in himself just as badly. It hurt just like Gongchan's death, it hurt _more_ than Gongchan's death, because it was just the two of them to share one anothers grief now. Just the two of them.

He hasn't allowed himself to go downstairs again. Not since Jongho had tried to move away from him. No... No, Hongbin's Sight has ruined, yet again, whatever relationship he'd been trying to have with another person. Even Jaehwan only helped him because he had to. Because if he didn't, Hongbin would die all on his own and Jaehwan... As warm and tender and giving as he was, wouldn't allow that to happen.

So Wonsik is here now, and Hongbin crowds himself further away. He does not want to be touched, he does not want to be treated with kindness he in no way deserves, he doesn't want to be held up as an example of everything his type shouldn't be and yet always, in the end, became.

“Hey,” Wonsik says, crouching down just outside of Hongbin's safety range. “Wanna talk about it?”

Wonsik has always been able to see straight through him.

“You knew,” Hongbin whispers, biting into his forearm so hard it bleeds before he speaks again. “You knew, and I didn't listen.”

“No,” Wonsik says. “You didn't.”

“I should have.”

“You should have.”

“It's too late.”

“I'm not sure that's true.”

Hongbin stares at Wonsik, who is sitting now, holding his cards. Wonsik is always holding his cards.

“Don't,” Hongbin whispers, pleads. “Don't tell me what I already know, Wonsik please, have mercy—”

“You don't know everything, Lee Hongbin,” Wonsik replies, already shuffling, already sliding his hands through the magic of his cards. “You're not that far along yet.”

Wonsik draws ten cards. He sets them on the floor in three rows of three, and the last at the center beneath them all.

“Please,” Hongbin is not too proud to sob, pressing further to the wall, almost feeling Jaehwan's arms and chest there, holding him. “Please don't, Wonsik.”

“The Inverted High Priestess,” Wonsik says, his voice very gentle as he turns the first card. “A lack of center. Repression.”

“Wonsik—”

He flips the second card in the row.

“The Inverted Nine of Wands. Exhaustion and fatigue.” Wonsik flips the third. “And the Inverted Three of Swords, for recovery, forgiveness, and moving on.” He looks up at Hongbin, as though to make sure Hongbin understands that he's been speaking of him, then moves to the second row. Wonsik flips the first card.

“The Ace of Wands, for creation, willpower, and desire. The Queen of Cups, for compassion and comfort.” He flips the third card. “The Strength. For inner strength, bravery, and focus.”

Hongbin knows, without being told, that this is Jaehwan. What he doesn't understand is why there is a third line of cards. Wonsik flips them, very slowly.

“The Star, for hope and faith. Temperance, for patience and compromise.” His hand hesitates over the third. Hongbin knows it is very rare to pull so much of the Major Arcana in a single reading, nevermind over a single event, or person, which must be what that final row represents. “The Tower, for avoided disasters.”

Hongbin's heart threatens to crack as Wonsik flips the last card, and smiles to himself. He looks up at Hongbin, his expression so kind and reassuring it makes Hongbin cry.

“And lastly, the Fool,” Wonsik reaches out and touches Hongbin. He recoils, but Wonsik touches him anyway, smooths a hand over his hair like he's petting a cat.

“The Fool is for new beginnings.”

“ _Don't,_ ” Hongbin grinds out, absolutely miserable. “Don't, don't, don't you dare—don't you _dare_ give me hope when there is none, don't you _dare_ do this to me, Wonsik, you _can't—_ ”

“You know I can't lie,” Wonsik says. “You know I can't. Look at the cards, Hongbin. You know they're true, like they always are.”

“He _hates me,_ ” Hongbin says. “As he _should,_ what I have I been other than—than despicable and vile and cruel, Wonsik, Wonsik I've been so cruel, I hate it, I hate it I hate—”

Wonsik yanks Hongbin away from the wall and hugs him so tightly Hongbin's ribs creak. Hongbin hisses air in through his teeth and tries to fight, but Wonsik is stronger than him even when Hongbin _isn't_ weak with hunger and depression and self-hatred. So in the end Hongbin just cries. He's cried nearly as much as he had when Gongchan was killed. Ironic that he should feel such a violent sadness now, when he'd tried so hard in the beginning to not feel anything for Jaehwan at all.

“You _must,_ ” Wonsik says, his voice hard. “Have faith. Hongbin you _must,_ even if it's all you have, you can't _give up._ You can't—it's not over, it's not over yet, Hongbin and you cannot give up. How is he going to carry on without you? He's been without you for so long can you imagine his _agony_ that you were too afraid to want him and you don't care enough about the future to try and want him now? Hongbin you can't be so _selfish._ He's in just as much pain as you and no matter what is coming you must, must, _must._ Have faith.”

“I don't dese—”

“It's not about what you _deserve,_ Hongbin!” Wonsik is practically shaking him. “It's about what you do now, _right now._ Even if it takes all the strength you have, you go downstairs and you give Jaehwan what he's needed for so long that you've been too afraid, too _selfish,_ to give him! Let him give it back to you! Do you not _feel_ how much he loves you? It's woven into the fabric of magic that makes this his House.” Wonsik runs his hand against the wall, as though he is touching so much softer than the paint.

“Can't you feel it? His love for you, for Gongchan, Hongbin you cannot tell me that you are so blind that you cannot feel his pain and I know you are not so stupid as to be unaware of how you can help it start healing.”

Hongbin does know. He knows that what he should do is go downstairs and take Jaehwan's hands. He should hold them, and kiss them, and tell Jaehwan how much he loves him. How afraid he was and why he was afraid in the first place. He needs to tell Jaehwan that he was selfish, that even though it will never be enough he is here now and he wants, so badly, to try.

So he lets Wonsik help him to his feet. Lets Wonsik walk him to the door he's been avoiding, past the broken picture to the left of it he's been afraid to pick up, and take him through it. He can feel the warm wash of Jaehwan's magic downstairs. He can feel Hakyeon, and Taekwoon also. Wonsik wouldn't have come here without them; the three of them are always together, as covenmates should be. This is another way in which Hongbin has wronged Jaehwan.

The three of them are talking, as they walk downstairs. Hongbin can't really hear anything, until—

“It doesn't matter. It hasn't... In eight months, it won't matter.”

“What won't matter?”

Wonsik is holding him up, because his legs are starting to buckle as he falls through the passageway into the room, his mind is starting to swim, no, no no please not _now,_ not now—

“Jaehwan?” Hongbin whispers. Jaehwan will not look at him. He turns his face away and curls more tightly against Hakyeon.

“Wh...”

Hongbin falls completely to the floor. It feels like his entire brain is exploding, on fire. He can't hold it in all at the same time, the contents of his stomach and his brain and his voice. He can hear, see, feel, it's too much, it's too much. Taekwoon and Hakyeon know something, they know something, they know something—

_I know something you don't know._

But the Sight shows him, anyway. Shows him the months passing, shows the members of Yeosang's family attending a funeral, sees Taekwoon and Wonsik and Hakyeon holding hands. Sees on the simple gravestone a name, and Hongbin suddenly and violently understands that no, no that vision was not about Jaehwan leaving back then, it was not about Jaehwan leaving in 1996 when he had every right to leave. No. No, it wasn't about back then. It was about now. It had been about right now, this very moment, because Jaehwan isn't gone yet, but he will be. He will leave, and Hongbin has squandered so much like the fool he always is.

“No,” Hongbin whimpers, yanking on his hair, jerking his head back and forth as though that will make what he's seeing untrue, will make it disappear, he's wasted so much time, he's wasted so much _time_ and they have hardly any left and it's _his fault—_

“No, no no no—you can't, you can't, not—you can't, Jaehwan you can't—what have, what have you _done—_ ” Time, Hongbin sees clocks and sundials and the moon, eight beautiful moons disappearing one by one into an empty sky like a clock ticking down the hours. So little time. They have so little time left.

“Hongbin,” Jaehwan pushes away from Hakyeon, stumbles to his knees. Hongbin stares at him until he comes closer. He can't stop staring, it's like he's never seen Jaehwan before, like he's never seen the bright and beaming light he gives off. It's like he's never felt the warmth of what should have been his love and instead had been just his presence, because Hongbin is a coward.

“What was the point,” He whimpers, salivating, dry heaving, it hurts, oh god, more than anything he's ever felt in his life, more than anything the agony of knowing that he is going to be alone is going to kill him. Knowing what Jaehwan sacrificed to save him is going to kill him.

“What... Why did you, did you bother, if—if you were just—just going to leave again—you're going to _leave me,_ Jaehwan you're going to leave me _again,_ you're going to leave me alone here—”

“I,” Jaehwan whispers. He holds Hongbin's wrists and Hongbin rakes his fingernails into Jaehwan's arms as though that will make what he saw untrue, as though that will change what he'd seen hurtling towards them, Jaehwan's inevitable death, his quiet passing into darkness where Hongbin could not follow.

“Hongbin,” Jaehwan says, and Hongbin shakes his head. He doesn't want to hear, he doesn't want to hear the truth from Jaehwan's own lips, he doesn't want to know it's true, Goddess please, make it untrue, make it untrue—

“I just—I wanted to keep you, just...” Jaehwan's voice is so soft, and wet with his tears. “Just a little longer, just... I wanted a little more _time._ ”

“Eight months,” Hongbin bares his teeth and hates that he cannot undo what he saw. Hates that Gongchan had told him to turn and come back, what was the point, a lifetime without Jaehwan will be a lifetime in the dark and if he kills himself he will never be able to find them through the Maze, where all those who kill themselves wander, and he will never be with them again.

“You traded yourself away for eight months of _misery—_ ”

“No, Hongbin.” Jaehwan's voice is so warm. Hongbin loves him so, so very much. He's going to lose him for real, this time.

“No. I traded it away for eight more months with _you._ And I'd—I'd do it again, in a heartbeat, Hongbin I'm so sorry I couldn't save him, I wanted to save him, I _tried—_ ”

When Jaehwan's skin touches his own like that, when their tears fall together onto the dark floor, he cannot find any air to breathe. He doesn't want to breathe. He doesn't want this to be true. Anything but this, Goddess anything but this. Anything but losing both of them because of his own stupidity and selfishness.

“I'm sorry,” Jaehwan whispers, as though that will _fix_ anything. “I'm sorry. I couldn't lose you too. Not when I could save you.”

“In eight months, I lose you,” Hongbin replies, shaking violently. He is already overwhelmed with his misery, in agony, it is ripping through him like the claws of an animal, like a wildfire. “I lose you. Just like I lost him, I'm going to lose you, I'm going to lose you for real this time, don't, please don't, Jaehwan don't leave me behind, please, I can't lose you you're all I have left please—”

Jaehwan presses in close to Hongbin, even though he's disgusting, filthy, unclean in every way. Jaehwan holds him because he loves Hongbin and Goddess, sweet and merciful Goddess Hongbin loves him and it's so painful, the knowledge of that headstone, the knowledge that this beautiful, silly and sun-shiney boy is going to leave him and it's his fault. It's all his own fault.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, grabbing desperately at Jaehwan, holding him tightly, afraid to let go. “I'm sorry I'm so sorry, I'm so selfish, I wanted to love you, I was so afraid, I'm sorry please don't go, Jaehwan please, please you _must_ undo this, please, please.”

“I can't,” Jaehwan says, and his heartbreak feeds back into Hongbin's own. “I can't. It... It's taken what I offered. I offered it freely, and there... There are no take-backs with the Voice, Hongbin, it's... It's a one-way movement.”

“What will it take,” Hongbin asks, fisting his fingers more tightly as though that will keep the future from coming. “I will give whatever it wants, Jaehwan what will it _take,_ I will give it, anything, everything, Jaehwan you can't go, I love you, I _love you,_ ” it all seems so stupid now, so pointless. What are his words worth now, when they have so little time left.

_You must have faith. Hongbin you must, even if it's all you have, you can't give up. You can't—it's not over, it's not over yet, Hongbin and you cannot give up._

_Goddess,_ Hongbin prays. _Give me the strength to have faith._

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” It seems so fragile, a spiderweb in morning dew, but he says it anyway. “I've always loved you. Ever since—ever since the park, Jaehwan you were like the sun, I loved you so much. Then, and now.”

“I know,” Jaehwan says. “I know, Bean. I know.”

 _Bean._ Jaehwan hadn't called him that for years and years and years and lifetimes. All because of that stupid, happy stringbean plant that made more stringbeans every time he walked by, the silly thing. Hongbin had once taken a bean off, eaten it right there as he spoke to the plant, even though he had nothing to say. It had produced seven more stringbeans while he was standing there. Is that what it's like to love Jaehwan, for the last of the time they have together? To give love, only to have it given back in multitudes, so he could give it back in return?

“No,” Hongbin says, fierce and solid. “You don't. But you will. You will.”


End file.
